What We Feel Most Has No Name

The Woman Is Not Just A Pleasure, Nor Even A Problem. She Is A Meniscus That Allows The Absolute To Have A Shape, That Lets Him Skate However Briefly On The Mystery, Her Presence Luminous On The Ordinary And The Grand. Like The Odor At Night In Pittsburgh’s Empty Streets After Summer Rain On Maples And Sycamore.

Question The Bravery. Say It's Not Courage. Call It A Passion.

We Exist With A Wind Whispering Inside And Our Moon Flexing. Amid The Ducts, Inside The Basilica Of Bones.

I'm Vain Enough To Think That I've Made A Successful Life. I've Had Everything I've Ever Wanted. You Can't Beat That.

Everyone Forgets Icarus Also Flew.